


all i ever longed for

by keeper0fthestars



Category: francisco morales - Fandom, frankie morales - Fandom, triple frontier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Frankie has feelings, Implied Sexual Content, One Night Stands, One Shot, Swearing, happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeper0fthestars/pseuds/keeper0fthestars
Summary: their paths keep crossing and timing is everything
Relationships: Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 53





	all i ever longed for

The first time he sees her it’s one of those nights at the end of his last semester: someone’s lake house, music blaring from a single dented speaker pulled from someone’s car. It’s not his scene, the beer funnels, the weed, but he’s here because Santiago convinced him ‘Come on man, you’re leaving tomorrow, college is gonna be a thing of the past after this.’

He notices her over the wild sparks of the bonfire, the warm glow reflecting on her cheeks when she laughs, the breeze tangling in her hair, whipping a few strands across her face. He sees the way the flames dance in her eyes, the way she tugs at the sleeves of her hoodie, clutching them inside her fists, stuffing her hands inside her pockets. Surrounded by her friends, she has no reason to look up. But she does.

She meets his eyes, and holds them, she already knows how long he’s been stealing glances at her. Something in her smile tells him she’s ok with that and there is no ego attached to it, she does not feed on being the centre of attention, but for some reason, she doesn’t mind his. She blinks into the fire as it pops and sends up a spray of sparks.

Meeting her eyes again, he wonders how one smile has the power to warm him to the tips of his toes, more than any glowing blaze ever could. He returns the smile, about to walk over to her when someone drapes an arm over her shoulders, catching her by surprise. He’s big and blond and Frankie sees her eyes turn hard. 

‘Fuck off, Brett,’ carries to his ears. An unwelcome knot sinks into his stomach, jaw clenching around a clog in his throat. His eyes not missing a beat, he sees her duck out of big and beefy’s arm.

Her eyes reach across the flames again, rattled, seeking out one thing, but all she catches is the back of a denim jacket, turning away from the fire.

Before Frankie realizes what he’s doing, he finds Santiago’s case of beer on the grass and he grabs a fresh one. He’s moving across the grass, squeezing around the kegs and the people and suddenly he’s right there, smiling at her like he’s known her for years, pressing the ice-cold bottle into her hand, saying ‘there you are,’ ignoring the ‘hey man, what the hell,’ watching her eyes soften, as they flick through a mixture of emotions in the space of one moment, instantly taking his cue.

The towering tree line surrounding the property is black as ink against a clear night and they find themselves sitting shoulder to shoulder on the stairs under the soft light of the porch.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You don’t have to drink it,” he says softly, caught up in the silvery-blue shape of her in the moonlight.

She pauses and then remembers she’s still holding the beer, “Oh. No, I meant, thanks for back there. Some guys just don’t give up y’ know.” 

Their knees bump together as she sets the bottle down with a soft thunk at her feet. Frankie adjusts the brim of his ball cap to hide the fact that his cheeks are burning and he’d do anything to feel her bump into him again.

“Nah, I don’t think you needed rescuing,” he feels the familiar weight of her eyes on him again and it makes his heart flip.

“Then why d’you do it,” she sniffs. But it’s not an accusation, far from it.

He waits for a beat before saying anything, the air between them igniting again and he wonders if she can hear his pounding heart.

“Don’t know,” he breathes, and maybe it’s the truth. “I thought to myself the worst you could do is say, ‘no’.”

“No, to what?” her voice is softer than silk and he wants to drown in it. 

He lets the question hang, earning him another smile. She’s waiting for him to look at her and when he does, whatever is written on his face is all the answer she needs and the silent invitation in her eyes turns his legs to water. And then her nose is sliding along his cheek underneath the brim of his ball cap and her hands are already in his hair and she tastes like summer and he doesn’t care if he ever breathes again.

The night air is rich with dew and smouldering embers and tangled limbs wedged in the backseat of her old blue mustang and forever embedded on his skin are the places scorched by her mouth. The sun is coming up by the time she drops him off. The engine idling on the curb, his door swung wide, he’s laughing against her mouth because she’s pulled him back, knocking his ball cap off his head, clutching his t-shirt inside her fist, and god now she tastes like him and he can’t bring himself to get out of the car just yet.

This is just his luck, he thinks, because now he’s leaving for eight weeks, and possibly longer if everything goes according to plan and it would be unfair to ask for her number. So he doesn’t.

///

The next time he sees her is the day he receives his tags. The black ones, the second set to his collection. He stands there for a second taking her in, hypnotized by her eyes, the way they reflect the wall of glass bottles in front of her, amazed that she’s not only in his city but in this bar. He doesn’t believe in destiny or fate or luck, but he wonders what brought them both to the same place tonight. 

Pulled by an impulse he cannot control, he finds himself moving across the crowded room, buying her a drink, jealous of how the edges of the glass touch her lips. None of their goddamn jump tests or their forty-mile night runs lugging a fifty-pound rucksack ever made him as lightheaded as this and he wonders if she’s thought of him as much as he’s thought of her. That night, when he drops his tags on the floor, next to her jeans, when the soft curtain of hair hangs above his face swaying gently, tickling his bare chest, he wishes he could buy her coffee in the morning too. 

Caught up in the touch of being pressed into his bed, his mouth sliding up her bare skin, her wrists lifted above her head, gently gripped inside one hand, he moans her name, hoarse and slow, his shoulders bunch crowding over her, the only thing she hears and feels and tastes when she closes her eyes and pleads, please, don’t stop, is him.

Afterwards, she buries her face in his neck filling her lungs with his scent. She wants to tell him she missed his smile, the way it reaches his eyes, crinkling around the edges and crashes straight into her heart. She wants to tell him how many nights she’d spent imagining his arms around her, and when she’d closed her eyes, she’d still see that stupid dimple in his cheek and the freckles on his chest. She wishes like hell this could be something more but she’s leaving for a year, possibly longer if everything goes according to plan and it would be unfair to ask for his number. So she doesn’t.

////

The third time he sees her, he cannot believe his luck. A massive lobby filled to the brim with people, he picks her out instantly a hundred feet ahead of him in the queue. He’d know those perfect legs anywhere. There is no logical reason for her perfume to reach his nose from where she is, but logic has nothing to do with it.

The only reason he’s even here is because Will scored these tickets last minute and the opener is about to come on stage but the rest of the guys are nowhere to be seen yet. Surrounded by her friends, he can’t help but smile because she looks so goddamn happy and he hears her laugh over the buzz of the lobby. He’s about to walk over to her when she lifts her hand to flick her hair behind her ear and something catches his eye, only for a split second but the single stone glints on her finger, unmistakable. He swallows thickly as the arena doors open up and his feet fill with cement. He doesn’t feel the press of people moving past him on both sides and he doesn’t hear Will call his name and he doesn’t breathe until he’s back on the street again and he doesn’t look back because the sun is making his eyes sting and he cannot believe his luck.

////

Itching to be back in the air, he’d rather not be on leave, but he has no choice because top brass decided eight missions back to back is too much, so he’s sitting at the place he sometimes goes when his thoughts get the best of him, counting down the days on the calendar until he’s allowed to throw himself into the next assignment. He pays no attention to the late hour or the live band that started or the increasing crowd. Nursing the same beer for the last hour, a familiar voice breaks through the haze of smoke and solitude.

“Hey, stranger.”

His breath catches in his chest as a pair of sparkling eyes takes him in, making his stomach flip and for a second, he thinks he might be hallucinating. But her hair is different and she’s wearing this sleek little black dress and it’s better than any goddamn dream he could ever conjure. He offers the empty stool next to him and she takes it, his eyes automatically drawn to the drink in her left hand, he can’t help it. But there’s nothing on her finger and for one wild breath, he thinks he might have imagined the whole thing. But his memory would never be that cruel to him, and if he asks her, it would mean he knew about its presence in the first place and he’s not sure he wants to pull on that thread. She’d looked so happy that day, and more than anything he’d wanted her to be happy and it didn’t matter if her happiness didn’t include him. She didn’t owe him a damn thing.

“I’m really glad you came over,” he says, suddenly wishing he’d shaved or something.

“Almost didn’t, with you scowling into your beer.”

He chuckles, warmth rising in his neck because those soft round eyes are flicking over his face, catching on his mouth and scruffy jaw and too long hair and he tries like hell to keep his voice light. “Enh, one of those days, y’ know.”

Something weary clouds her eyes, settling on her face, the briefest glimpse and then she blinks and it’s gone, turning to her drink, “Yeah,” she nods, with a ghost of a smile, “I do know.” 

He wonders how he didn’t see it when she first sat down, but it is there, plain as day. He recognizes it because he knows what it’s like to pretend nothing’s wrong while the weight of the world is on your shoulders and he wants to know who did that to her; he wants to know because he’d make them pay for it.

Then her knees are bumping against his and her gaze lingers a moment too long and if he keeps looking at her, her smile is gonna loosen something deep in his chest and make it thaw.

“You here alone?” She asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He nods and returns the question.

“Didn’t start that way but yeah, it seems I am.”

She doesn’t believe in destiny or fate or luck, but somehow, wrong turn after wrong turn, she’s sitting here next to him again and for once, it’s not within a blurry dream at four in the morning; maybe this time she won’t let him slip from her fingers. This beautiful dark haired-man who knows exactly how to kiss her, his perfect voice seared into her memory for all the times she’d wished it was him inside her. With his broad shoulders and calloused fingers and exquisite brown eyes and fuck now her heart is starting to ache.

“Anything I can do?” he asks.

“Dance with me.”

They don’t even make it to his place this time. Pinned against the inside of a bathroom stall, her dress crumpling inside his fists, thrust up just enough to make room for his mouth, she’s unravelling for him within seconds. It’s sloppy and breathless and needy and alive and then she’s yanking his belt open and his fingers are sinking bruises into her hips and he has to cover her mouth with his to muffle the fact that he’s falling apart around her. And then it’s over as quickly as it started only to continue again minutes later in his truck. Because if this is all she can give him, he’ll take it, he thinks. He’ll take it and take it and take it because he’d rather have some of her than none of her.

Later, in the quiet darkness of his bed, desperation finally settled, he feels her fingertips trace the bumpy line of his tags along his neck, down the middle of his chest. Propped up on her side, her right elbow beneath her, she picks them up, watching the discs glint in the glow of the bedside lamp, feeling the weight of them in her palm. The air between them blooms with unspoken questions, he can feel it.

“Are you leaving soon?” She lays the tags back down, splaying her warm hand on his chest.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “until tonight, I was hoping the sooner the better, but now….,” he trails off, looking up at her. One knuckle traces down her cheek hooking it under her chin, drawing her mouth down to his. Her hand stays on his chest and he hovers over it, lacing his fingers with hers. He thinks maybe if she keeps kissing him the rest of the world could just melt away because now that’s she’s here, in his bed, with her legs nestled between his, he can’t quite handle the possibility, the reality, of her not being here, wonders how he lived this long trying to deny it. The thought makes his throat squeeze with anguish, and it hurts like hell because he knows how close it came.

She finally pulls away and he looks up at her wide lashes and her messy hair and he knows he’d kiss her for the rest of his life if she’d let him. His ribs buckle with the effort to take a breath. Detecting a shift in the air, she sees the way his throat works. She tilts her head at him, her eyes travelling up his face, trying to identify its cause. 

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, swallows hard and tries again.

“What.” She says, feeling her stomach drop.

“I saw you last summer,” his voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Waiting in line, at that concert.”

With a single finger, he traces feather-light down the back of her hand resting on his chest, down the third finger on her left hand. “I wanted to come talk to you, but, then I-, and you just looked so happy, so I-,”

She blinks, meeting his gaze, her eyes slowly growing wider as the emotion empties from her face. 

She slowly pulls her hand out from underneath his fingers, laying flat on her back beside him, taking a single shallow breath, and then another. His lungs cave in, instantly regretting his words. There is emotion flooding her throat now, he can hear it in the way she swallows. Fuck, he’s such an asshole.

“I’m sorry,” he says, dragging a hand down his face, “it’s none of my business, you don’t- you don’t have to say anything.”

Finally, her breathing evens out. So much time passes that he thinks maybe she fell asleep so he turns to her. Her eyes are staring up at his ceiling fan, but he knows she doesn’t see it.

“I couldn’t do it,” she whispers, shaking her head. Licking a chapped bottom lip, she blinks, turning to look at him.

Shaky relief floods his chest because finally she’s talking so he shifts towards her, propping himself up to face her, tags sliding down loose to his shoulder. Her eyes are glistening, threatening to spill over and it tugs jagged at his heart. He’d follow her anywhere if she asked; it’s all he’s ever wanted. Your heart would be safe with me. So safe.

Carefully sliding a hand over her hips, he makes his voice very soft. “Couldn’t do it all, or couldn’t do it with him?”

He wasn’t you, she wants to say.

In her eyes he sees the heartache, the longing, recognizes it because it’s the same raw feeling he gets in his chest when she asks him to kiss her but none of that matters now because she’s opening her mouth for him and her hands are digging into his hair and he doesn’t care if they ever call him back overseas.

When he wakes, she’s gone and he cannot believe she left without waking him first. He scrambles for his phone to see the time and under the device on the floor is a piece of paper torn and folded in half. The note puckers in his haste to grab it and open it.

‘I didn’t want to wake you xo’ is scrawled in fluid slanted letters.

Something soft dislodges underneath his chest, suspending all the air in his lungs. He reads it over again and he doesn’t see it until he lifts his thumb off the bottom of the paper.

Her number.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, I would love to know what you think of this!!


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